


The Power of Emotion

by cadkitten



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Past Drug Use, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:12:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was still angry, very much so, for the years he'd spent thinking Sherlock dead... for all the time he'd had to spend trying to get over his passing and move on with his life, only to have him come back into it, perfectly healthy and alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power of Emotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janetimothyfreeman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janetimothyfreeman/gifts), [xxcheerxbabe85xx](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=xxcheerxbabe85xx).



> From LCAD. Johnlock. Smut.  
> Beta: tsuyu-sama  
> Song[s]: Album Escala by Escala

John pressed his head back against his chair, a small frown on his face as he glanced around the apartment. When he'd first come back to the place and Sherlock had set his chair out again, he'd been mildly confused... but then again, he'd been more upset with his chair going missing before that. So he really couldn't find it in him to comment at all on the location of such an object or as to why it meant so much to him to start with. He was still angry, very much so, for the years he'd spent thinking Sherlock dead... for all the time he'd had to spend trying to get over his passing and move on with his life, only to have him come back into it, perfectly healthy and alive. Even the thought sent a wrench through his gut and he sighed, his fingers tapping on the arm of his chair in mild annoyance.

Lifting his hand, he picked up his teacup and swallowed a mouthful of the slowly cooling liquid within. His gaze flicked to the door and then away again. He was always so worried now... even in the three weeks he'd been here, he found himself fretting about each time Sherlock left to go somewhere. It was significantly worse if the other just up and disappeared without a single word to him, as he had done today. Always the fear he'd just disappear again, that he'd walk right back out of his life and leave him all alone... so starkly alone. He felt it more so now than he had in the two years Sherlock had been gone, perhaps because the fear was ever-lingering or perhaps because he'd been so deeply cut by Mary's lies and deception. 

He knew, somewhere deep inside, that he was going to try to work it out with her. But the truth was, he couldn't bring himself to go back just yet. He had the child to consider; his own DNA growing and forming into a human being inside of Mary's womb. But his own emotional turmoil was more than he could even remotely think to deal with at the moment. He'd ended up back in 221B just because it was the closest thing he had to a home and because being around Sherlock at least gave him some micron of stability, something he desperately needed in his life for the time being.

His phone buzzed on the table and he picked it up, giving it a wary look before opening the text and reading through it. It was Mary, just telling him how her check-up had gone for the baby and he found himself shifting uncomfortably in his chair, annoyance and relief trying to duke it out for who would be top-dog today. He sighed, running his hand over his thigh, fingertips digging in as he got closer and closer to the area riddled with what Sherlock loved to call psychosomatic pain. The second text came in, Mary telling him that she wished he'd even respond at all, annoyance immediately winning the contest for the day.

 _We're on break... separated. Last time I looked up that term, it clearly implied we were not talking for the duration except in dire need. Thank you for the update on the baby, I am truly pleased things are going well in that department._ He sent the text off, his teeth gritted slightly as he heard the clink of a cup next to him and then the sound of the door closing again. He glanced to his side, finding Mrs. Hudson had left him a new pot of tea, refilled his cup, and even laid out a sandwich for lunch. She always said she wasn't their housekeeper, but then she did things like this... always feeding John, and he found he appreciated it more now than ever before.

His thoughts slowly pulled away from the current predicament with Mary and onto the variety of discussions he'd had with Mrs. Hudson over the years. He found his mind settling the most over her reaction to his announcement of his engagement to Mary. She'd been so shocked to hear he was with a woman... not that he could blame her. He and Sherlock had spent their entire time together in the apartment dancing around their clear feelings for one another. He had avoided it because what he had with Sherlock was a work-based, roommate-type relationship and he hadn't wanted to complicate that by bringing up what he had thought was one-sided for a long time. But then he'd noticed the things Sherlock did for him that he didn't for anyone else... the things he told him that no one else was privy to. He knew secrets about Sherlock Holmes that no one else probably ever would.

Certain things didn't surprise him at all, though he vehemently denied them since they honestly hadn't been true. He had pushed Mrs. Hudson's comments away because he almost feared what Sherlock would have to say about it least the landlady give him away if he answered incorrectly. But still... certain things swam in his head that he wished he'd just been honest with her about rather than being nearly as abrasive as Sherlock himself. Granted, he wasn't gay by any means, but he was - and always had been - bisexual. He had only had one male lover grace his bed in all of his years, but he had enjoyed it just as much as the women he held neatly filed in his past. And, truly, he hadn't done a thing with Sherlock that could be considered a relationship. He'd dated women while the other was there, he'd even had sex with one of them with Sherlock in the next room: something that had seemed to merely fascinate Sherlock, given the way he stared at him the following morning. 

Something stirred inside him as he picked up the sandwich he'd been left and began to work his way through it. Here he was, married and a baby on the way... finally hashing over his feelings for Sherlock. It honestly wasn't anywhere near _right_ , but then again what Mary had done wasn't either. And they _were_ separated, completely officially and they'd even talked through it, deciding that it would be best if it were complete in every way for a while. And that had included the bedroom, despite neither of them outright saying it... Mary knew John's appetites and John knew Mary wouldn't be able to resist a lovely night out on the town with anyone who invited her. His mind rolled over the fact that Sherlock would have probably called him some huge-worded name for a whore if he knew the direction of his thoughts, but it only made him snort into his teacup.

Standing up, he cleared away his plate and went to deposit it in the sink. He went to the door and opened it, calling down a thank you to Mrs. Hudson and then closing it once she had returned that it was utterly no issue for her to do such things and he should stop fretting and relax. He drifted over to the couch rather than his chair, settling where he'd once found Sherlock laid out after a binge, his eyes glassy and vacant, trousers open and the evidence of what he'd done slowly drying over his abdomen. John traced his fingertips over the material of the couch. It wasn't a good memory, but it wasn't a bad one either. The drugs had disturbed him, though... he understood. He comprehended it more than Sherlock would ever know; the desire to escape had been so strong after he'd come home from Afghanistan. The things he'd seen... and done, had scarred him for life and for a while he honestly had considered such a path. He could only imagine that Sherlock's mind, as alight with horrible things as it was, was a lot like war. And the drug use was simply an escape for him, he was sure.

But that hadn’t been something he could stop, so the bad was far overshadowed by the fact that he knew, intimately, what Sherlock had been doing on that couch. And judging by how wet his leavings still were, he knew about how long before he'd come into the apartment he had done them. Even now, it surged arousal through him to think on it. His fingertips remembered that evening, after he'd poured Sherlock into bed just how familiar he'd become with his own hand... how he'd moaned Sherlock's name into his pillow as he'd cum... and how little regret he'd had over the action. 

John settled back against the seat and breathed out a quiet sigh as he gazed across the room at his chair, once more fixated on the object. Sherlock had known he'd come running right back here... or perhaps it was simply a trigger to pull him back once the path of Mary's truth had been revealed. Either way, it was what had happened. He was either Sherlock's puppet or the other was so buried inside his mind that he knew his every move... and somehow, neither thing bothered him the way it might once have. No, now he was simply grateful for the place to _belong_ ; as much as he could belong anywhere, really.

The door opened and Sherlock stepped inside, stripping off his coat and hanging it on the hook. He didn't even look at John, muttering under his breath as he moved about, taking off his shoes and then pacing the sitting room floor a few times. Finally, he stopped, picked up the teacup John had been using, finished off the rest of it, and then stopped, staring right at John's chair. "You're in the wrong spot," he intoned, very quietly, though loud enough for John to hear him.

John regarded him for a few seconds and then lifted his head, defiance in his eyes as he stared firmly at Sherlock's backside, uncaring if he was caught. Mrs. Hudson would probably piss herself in delight if she heard what he was confident would follow this. The thought brought a smirk to his lips as he returned, "I'm exactly where I want to be. You're the one in the wrong spot."

Sherlock turned on his foot, casting his glance to the side to include John in it. "Oh?" He didn't question it further, obviously sensing he was being led and allowing it for the time being.

"Come on now..." John tossed one arm over the back of the sofa and spread his legs, intentionally inviting without words, showing he was already partly hard in his slacks. " _The_ Sherlock Holmes can surely deduct what's going on here." He was baiting him, knowingly enticing him toward what he wanted to have happen. If he drew Sherlock to saying it, it was more likely to happen and he knew it.

He could almost see the visions of Sherlock's deductions flying about the room as he cast his glance back to where John's teacup and the teapot were, then back to where he was now, his gaze starting at his shoeless feet and sliding up his legs, over his crotch... pausing... and then along the rest of his body, out to his fingers that rested on the fabric of the couch, and then up to his face, staring intently at him for what seemed like nearly forever. "Tense... nervous, but determined... presumptuous..." he took a few steps toward him and tilted his head, "you used my supplies in the shower last night rather than your own, which is telling of the fact that your subconscious mind planned this far before your conscious mind caught up on it." One more step. "Aroused... you hair is standing on end on your arms, but you're not cold as the ambient temperature is set to what you prefer." Two more steps and Sherlock skirted the table, coming to stand directly in front of him, his arms behind his back, one hand clutching the wrist of the opposite arm. He stared down at John's crotch for a moment, a ghost of a smirk playing over his lips. "Your cock is hard, John Watson. And even as I'm talking, you're getting more and more excited."

John stared up at him, fire burning in his eyes as he looked directly into Sherlock's own. A dirty little smirk played over his lips before he intentionally slid his tongue out to wet them, drawing Sherlock's attention to it. "We've been dancing around it for a long, long time, haven't we? Listening to one another... getting off well after we think the other person's asleep, but they aren't." Sherlock opened his mouth, looking like he was about to deny that, but John cut him off. "Don't bother denying it... I've heard you. I used to finish and you'd toss and turn for near an hour before taking yourself in hand. Sometimes it was just the quiet sound of your self-love that I heard and sometimes," his smirk grew, "it was more than that." He reached out, grasping the front of Sherlock's shirt and tugging him down with it, his actions near violent. "You've wanted me as much as I ever wanted you, Sherlock Holmes." He had a certain amount of glee in watching the look on the other's face each time he spoke his full name. It was a race of excitement covered quickly by the neutral look of a man trying to hide something. He tried it again, tasting each word as it left his tongue. " _Sherlock... Holmes_." He watched the detective shudder this time and he breathed out a laugh. "You fucking narcissist."

"I have never once denied that," Sherlock replied, his voice holding an edge to it that John wasn't quite sure he'd ever heard before. He reached down, covering John's hand with his own, just holding it there. "Your relationship-"

"Separated... officially. Don't bring that up right now." John hated the stab of guilt in his gut. He had no reason to feel guilty. He and Mary had made this decision... or more she'd made it for him. But either way, he was doing nothing wrong here. Except that on some level, he was. He _cared_ for Sherlock. It wasn't just a one night stand and it never would be between them. But he'd lived in denial for so long... and then he'd lost him. And that had been crushing to John. He hated to admit the nights he'd spent hiding behind a bottle or the amount of times he'd caressed the edges of the most horrible thoughts. Swallowing thickly, he stuck with his decision, knowing the regret of not doing this would be deeper than the regret of doing it. "Have you ever had a man?" he asked quietly, knowing Sherlock would want to be clinical about this... and somehow that didn't turn him off in the least. Perhaps it was a part of the charm of the other man.

Sherlock regarded him for a few moments and then gave a single nod. John breathed out a soft huff through his nose, amused at least. He'd always suspected, but he'd never really known. "A woman?" It wasn't relevant, but he wanted to know, given the times he'd watched Sherlock with a variety of women, courting them, but he'd never seen him engage in any activity that alluded to intercourse with one... without it being a ruse, of course. Again, he received a single nod and he made a little 'well then' face before smirking up at Sherlock. "How do you envision this going?"

The detective pulled himself upright, taking John's hand away from his shirt. "Not like this." He pursed his lips and then, quietly, "Get what you need from this, John. You're following the rules too closely."

John's eyes followed Sherlock as the other man left the room, walking down the hallway and into the bathroom. The door didn't quite close and he could hear it even as Sherlock began voiding his bladder into the toilet. Sherlock _never_ left the door open and some part of John realized it was an invitation of sorts... and open door into Sherlock's life and mind for a single evening. He pushed himself off the couch, taking off his belt and leaving it there. He dumped his phone on the couch as well and then made his way down the hall, coming to the door just as Sherlock was tucking himself back in and zipping up. Their eyes met for a moment as Sherlock moved to wash his hands. There were no words, seemingly no need for them for the time being.

John stepped back as Sherlock moved to leave the bathroom, trailing after him as they moved to the detective's bedroom: a place that John had been banned from long ago. He glanced around, finding the evidence of Sherlock's drug usage, a pang going through his heart as he closed the door behind them. He leaned back against the solid wood, studying the room and the contents, pieces of it surprising him and others being fully expected. If he'd been invited into the sanctuary, he was surely going to examine it.

The bed springs creaked and John looked back at Sherlock, breathing out a very aroused huff of breath as he found the other completely naked, leaning back on the mess of sheets that was his bed. "Are you going to look around my room all day, analyzing what you find or are you going to do what you actually came in here to do?"

John closed his eyes for a second, steadying himself, and then opened them again, letting his gaze travel over the other man's form. He pushed away from the door, unbuttoning his shirt and casting it aside, then pausing to step out of his slacks, no hesitation in his movements at all. He knew what he wanted, as strange as it would likely be to Sherlock, his number one desire had always been to kneel before him and provide him with the utmost pleasure. Dropping to his knees, he slid his hands along Sherlock's thighs, simply gazing at his cock as it began to stiffen. Even just the hint as to what was coming and Sherlock was already rising to the occasion just fine. He glanced back up at him, finding Sherlock watching him, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed. The great Sherlock Holmes... aroused beyond reason just by the pretense of an action. 

John took a few moments just to enjoy what he was looking at and then leaned in, carefully sliding his mouth down over Sherlock's length. He wasn't entirely erect and the sensation of him coming to full hardness against his tongue was one that John relished. It was with a moan that he finally, fully took him in, closing his eyes as he felt the other's cock slide all the way to the back of his throat. For a moment, he just remained there, going over the fact that he was actually doing this in his mind, allowing himself to feel the emotions that inevitably accompanied this union. And for just an instant, he thought of how some part of him wished he'd done this sooner, how he had missed out on so many moments with Sherlock by not admitting to the truth of it.

Pushing those thoughts away, he began to move, his fingers gripping the detective's thighs as he took him in again and again. It was only when Sherlock's hand came to rest in his hair that he let up, opening his eyes and flicking them up to see what was going on with his chosen partner. Sherlock's chest rose and fell with nearly desperate breaths, his eyes were wild with lust, and his lips were red from obviously having chewed on them to keep himself quiet. They'd barely even started and already Sherlock looked truly debauched and it made John want to beg the rest of this out of him, get what he wanted, how he wanted it. Perhaps... that had been the purpose. Sherlock's earlier words coming back to him, recounting how this was for him to get what he needed out of it.

Hesitation melted away and John pulled off Sherlock's cock, giving it a final lick before he stood up and then caught the other's jaw, holding him in place as he kissed him forcefully. Sherlock's hand came to rest on his bicep, squeezing and then rubbing lightly as John delved his tongue into the other's mouth, tasting him and then pulling away, moaning quietly as he parted from him. His eyes were still closed as he issued his request, the only way he could get it out. "I need you, Sherlock. Fuck me stupid... I want it against the headboard of the bed. I want it loud... and rough." He finally opened his eyes, meeting Sherlock's own. "I want to hear you moan for me while I scream for you. Make me forget everything except that moment." It was a tall request, but it was one he knew Sherlock could fill if only he put his mind to it... and lord did he ever hope he would.

A few moments passed in which Sherlock simply gazed into his eyes before the hand on his arm tightened and then tugged. Sherlock's lips brushed over John's ear as he hissed out, "Get on the bed." He pushed a little as he let go, standing up. John could hear the rattling of the bedside stand as he moved to crawl onto the bed, facing the headboard. He settled on his knees on the pillows, hands resting on the carved wood of Sherlock's headboard. He lightly caressed it, examining it to distract himself from just how much he wanted to touch his dick right then. He was so aroused that pre-cum had long since started to weep from the tip, something he'd always found fascinating. Some men produced more than others and he was in the category of those who produced enough to make a stain on their trousers if too aroused. More than once he'd had embarrassing situations due to his arousal... and once Sherlock had even noticed, though he'd said nothing, only looked at it curiously for a few minutes before finally looking away. The memory of what John had done that night in the shower send thrills through him and he shuddered, murmuring out, "I've wanted you for a long, long time."

The bed dipped as Sherlock settled behind him, one hand firmly cupping his backside before two fingers began to explore his crack. "You asked me all the questions earlier... now it your turn." Sherlock's lips brushed over his shoulder. "Have you ever taken a cock before, John?" He thrust two fingers in just as he asked the question, forcing a moan from John as he simply began to thrust them, leaving no room for adjustment, simply for sparks of blinding pleasure to be sent along his nerve endings.

"N-no," John returned, bowing his head and doing his best to keep in all the sounds until Sherlock was done questioning him. "Other way," a gasp, "around."

"So you _fucked_ him," Sherlock intoned, the dirty word sounding even more so coming from his mouth. John knew it was intentional... this talk built to ramp him up, structured just the right way to make John squirm. He'd wanted to beg for it... somewhere deep inside, that had been his ploy from the beginning, and Sherlock knew it more intimately than perhaps John himself did. "Have you fantasized about us before?"

John bobbed his head once in response. There was little point in lying, Sherlock would know anyway. "I have," he breathed out, a shiver flitting through him as the other slowed down somewhat on the thrusts. 

"While you were in the room next to mine?" His teeth scraped along John's neck and John couldn't even stop himself from simply shouting out, "Yes!" in response to the question, Sherlock's fingertips finding what they'd obviously been seeking the entire time quiet adeptly. "You like this... you _crave_ it, don't you, John?" Another nod. "No, don't just shake your head. I want to _hear_ you." He hissed in his ear, "Be loud about it, that's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

"I-" John sucked in a breath as Sherlock slammed his fingers into that delicious bundle of nerves once again, "I touched my cock thinking of you o-on more than one... occasion," he moaned just after the last word was out, Sherlock's free hand closing over his length causing him great pleasure. He shuddered and then whimpered out, "Please... oh fuck, please, Sherlock."

"Louder." His hand began to stroke.

"Sherlock! Please!" John let the words come from his mouth louder than he'd really intended, knowing full well there was no way Mrs. Hudson hadn't heard it. But maybe... that's what he'd wanted all along. He moaned at the thought of someone hearing them, the rest of his desires tumbling out. "Sherlock, please take me. I need your cock in me!" He pushed himself back toward him, behaving the part of the needy lover just fine.

There was a brief moment in which Sherlock wasn't touching him at all, the sound of a condom being opened meeting his ears, and then there were hands on his hips, holding him in place. A brief shift and Sherlock pushing lightly on his back to bend him a bit more... and finally the blunt head of Sherlock's cock pressing at his entrance. John relaxed as best he could, waiting on it, willing it to happen, his cock throbbing with the pure desperate desire of it.

The instant Sherlock filled him, John quite nearly came. His cock stiffened to full hardness, his balls drawing up tight against his body, and he cried out louder than he'd ever done with a lover before. He grappled with the headboard and let out a near sob as Sherlock began to move, the sensations overwhelming. Having the other inside him was far more than he'd expected... and not in a negative sort of manner. He felt overwhelmed, but more aroused than ever before. Even as Sherlock began to move, he knew there was no turning back from this. It was something he'd crave for the rest of his days on Earth, something he'd lay in bed at night and jack off while he thought about... something he'd come back for more of if given even half a chance to do so. And that alone left him burning with more pleasure than he'd even thought possible.

Shivering, he bowed his head, one hand stretching out to smack into the wall and then drag downwards, his fingers curling as Sherlock obviously took heed of his plea that it be rough. Their skin slapped hastily against one another, the sounds of their union filling the small room. Their position shifted slightly and he let out a shout as Sherlock hit the right angle, his cock just barely brushing over his prostate. His head thumped forward against the wall and he moaned out the other's name, his free hand leaving the headboard to come down and grasp his own length, stroking near frantically.

Sherlock grabbed his hand and wrenched it away, his lips pressing back against his ear, erratic breath caressing the sensitive flesh. "Don't... don't do it, John. _I_ will make you lose control. It's what you desire the most, isn't it?" John gave a little nod and Sherlock released his hand. Their union shifted then, Sherlock's arm going around his abdomen, holding him close, the touch near tender in contrast with the sharp slap of his hips as he drove himself deep inside John's body, over and over. His lips caressed the side of his neck and his tongue teased the spot he'd found right behind John's ear that the medic would never _ever_ admit was there. A thrill shot through John as Sherlock's other hand came to rest alongside his own on the wall, urging him to move with him. Finally, _finally_ , the headboard began to knock against the wall, just as John had imagined it would do if they ever ended up in bed together and he found himself breathing out a sigh of intense pleasure as their rhythm was set and locked by the sound of it.

For the next few minutes, nothing else in the entire world mattered except the pair of them. He could feel the pull of the sweat on Sherlock's skin against his back, smell the spice of his deodorant, and even feel the prickle of the smallest amount of stubble that Sherlock had perhaps neglected to remove from his cheeks this morning before he'd gone out. Some part of him became aware it was only midday and they were still doing this. There was no cover of darkness to hide behind, no denial of their actions by slipping out of bed the following morning. Everything about it had been so carefully crafted by his own mind that it was nearly ridiculous how he had managed to escape this moment for so long. His hand moved to cover Sherlock's own as he breathed out his name, his thighs starting to tremble out of sheer arousal.

"Reach for it, John. Tell me what you need to find it." Sherlock's breath caressed his skin, the sound of his voice sliding around his very soul. Closing his eyes, John simply strained for it, nearly all of him starting to tremble from the effort of it. If he did find it, it'd be the first time he'd ever cum without direct stimulation to his cock. Some part of him wanted that so desperately that he finally bit out, "Faster," his ass pushing back more against Sherlock's thrusts. Instantly, he was getting it faster, Sherlock pressed harder against him than he'd been the entire time, his every muscle working to give John what he wanted, his breath coming in sharp pants as he went at it. 

And then, gloriously, it was happening. John's lips parted and the most amazing array of sounds left him as he started to cum. It almost made it better that he knew they'd never find all of it to clean up, some of it surely falling down between the headboard and the wall, some between headboard and mattress, forever to stain the fabric no matter how well it was scrubbed up. The rest he deposited on Sherlock's pillows. One trembling hand came back to grasp at Sherlock's hip for a moment, squeezing as he gasped out the other's name, nearly in shock from the force of it.

Sherlock slowed down somewhat, but he didn't relent entirely. He gave it a few more thrusts and then stilled, breathing out a moan against John's shoulder, a shudder wracking his body as he found his own end, filling the latex barrier between them.

They remained like that for a few minutes, Sherlock simply resting against him, occasionally kissing or nuzzling whatever skin was in front of him, surprisingly affectionate even in the glow of post-orgasmic bliss. It wasn't something John would have expected of him, but he found he adored it... and very quickly, craved it. He rested there against the headboard and the wall, his head tilted to the side to lean on Sherlock's still outstretched arm, his eyes closed as he simply enjoyed the feeling of the other within his body and against it. Eventually, he breathed out, "Sherlock, I-"

"I already know," Sherlock returned quietly, his hand lightly caressing John's side and then splaying across his abdomen. "I've known for a very long time and I knew that this would lead you to realizing it fully as well... but we both needed this." Another kiss was pressed to his cheek and then Sherlock was pulling away. "Time... will grant all things, John. Just keep that in mind."

John slid down onto the bed, relaxing there as he watched Sherlock leave the room. Sometimes Sherlock said the worst possible thing at the worst possible moment... and then there were moments like these: where his words were everything that John had needed to hear. 

**The End**


End file.
